


Shed Not One Tear

by Carmarthen



Category: Gladiator (2000)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Gift Fic, Incest, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucilla and Commodus in the days before Maximus's return to Rome. Seriously dubious consent, but nothing explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shed Not One Tear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamiflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/gifts).



> Originally intended as a 2007 New Year's Resolution story for dreamiflame, but I write too slowly. Copious thanks to truestories for the delightfully nitpicky and very useful beta. This story owes its inspiration to "Sister I Need Wine" by Guided By Voices.

Lucilla had never liked the arena, and when their father was alive, she had not gone. But Commodus said that Lucius must be a strong man if he was to be heir to Rome, and that he must watch the games. So Lucilla went, not trusting her brother with her son.

They had released some gazelles from Africa into the ring, delicate, graceful creatures that ran wild-eyed in terror from the leopard released at their heels. Lucilla shuddered and looked away.

"Are you not enjoying yourself, sister?" Commodus asked, casually draping an arm over her shoulder. Lucilla tensed.

"I only come because you make Lucius come, you know that," she said, looking straight ahead.

"You are the paragon of motherhood," Commodus said, a sweet, cruel edge to his voice. "And Lucius is such a lovely boy. You know, he doesn't look much like your dear departed husband at all."

Lucilla drew away from Commodus, her palms slicking with sweat.

Commodus leaned over her shoulder, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. The rings on his fingers dug painfully into her arm. "Are you so certain, dear sister, that in the darkness when your husband came stumbling in, reeking of wine, that it was your husband?"

Lucilla felt the blood drain from her face, and it took all her will to remain rigidly upright, unflinching. "Quite certain, brother, that it was not you," she said coldly. "I would have known you by your fear."

When she dared to look at Commodus, his face was white and hard, the corners of his mouth tight with anger. "My sister is tired and wishes to retire," he said loudly, signaling a guard. "Please, escort her back to her rooms."

Lucilla stood, gathering her palla around herself for protection from Commodus's eyes. Commodus was reminding her of his control, and it should have angered her, but she found herself simply relieved to escape.

"Lucius, darling," she said, touching her son's shoulder.

"Lucius will stay with me, sister," Commodus said, his eyes dark and unreadable. He put an arm around Lucius's shoulders.

Lucilla left with as much dignity as should could muster, feeling nauseated. Surely her brother was not so perverse. Surely he would not look at Lucius the way he looked at her.

She would sacrifice anything to keep Commodus from hurting her son.

* * *

In her dreams, Lucilla was a gazelle, running and running, the leopard's breath scalding her heels, running until she woke up with the feeling of falling from a precipice, her blood pounding in her ears.

She pulled on a robe, her hands shaking, and opened the door to Lucius's room. He was asleep, her beautiful son, peaceful, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she held.

"Mama?" Lucius stirred, blinked at her sleepily. She wanted to smooth his tousled curls, but Lucius has reached an age where he pulled away from too much motherly fussing. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she said, "I had a bad dream, that's all."

"You can sleep with me if you want," Lucius said, all little-boy protectiveness and innocence, and Lucilla felt her throat tighten. Lucius was not his father's child, thank the gods, and he was not another Commodus. When Commodus had offered shelter from her childish nightmares, there had always been something sly and dangerous behind his kind words.

"Thank you, darling," she said, and leaned over to kiss Lucius's cheek. "I'm all right now. Go back to sleep."

Back in her own bed, she lay awake, half-missing her husband for the little protection he'd provided, and thinking of how much--how wrongly, but how much--her brother loved her. And she had to protect Lucius, no matter what.

* * *

Commodus was wearing a heavy cloak of leopardskin, the snarling head draped over one shoulder, against the night chill of the gardens. The scent of cured fur and musk made Lucilla think of her father.

"Lucilla," he murmured. His eyes were tired and he smelled like wine. "I must apologize for my behavior at the arena yesterday."

Lucilla sighed and kissed his forehead. "I forgive you," she said. He had not always been mad, she thought, but the slip had been so subtle she had not realized until it was far, far too late to do anything--their father had known, she thought, but little good it had done him.

Commodus was still her brother. She still loved him, almost as much as she feared him. But she wondered, sometimes, how Marcus Aurelius had died. She did not think the story Commodus had told her was entirely true.

The leopardskin was soft and lush against her hands, and the feel of it filled her with a nameless dread.

"Lucilla," Commodus said, and kissed her cheek, just by her ear. His lips were soft, and it was not a brotherly kiss. "My beautiful sister."

She shivered. "Brother--"

"Do you remember when we were friends, you and I?" His eyes were closed, the lashes fanned darkly against his cheek. "You used to comfort me when I had nightmares, Lucilla."

She gently tried to extricate herself from his embrace, but his arms only tightened hard around her waist. His face was pressed against her neck, his lips brushing her collarbone, and she shivered with a feeling she dared not name.

"We're too old for that, Commodus," she said. "Come, I'll make you a calming draught."

"All right," he said, but he followed her too closely.

* * *

This time there were two leopards and a lion, a skinny, battered creature covered with the scars of past arena fights that looked scarcely a match for the sleakly gleaming leopards, despite its greater size. But it fought with a desperate ferocity that had Lucilla on the edge of her seat.

The lion was bleeding from deep slashes on its flanks, circling the leopards warily. When one ventured forward, goaded by the spears of watching handlers, it lashed out, crushing the leopard's throat.

Next to her, Commodus made a small sound, almost like fear. She risked a glance at him. His hands were white-knuckled on the arms of his chair, and he looked ill, his skin paler than usual and sheened with sweat. His usual avid enjoyment of the violence was absent.

Commodus looked afraid, and Lucilla knew, as surely as an oracle, that Maximus Decimus Meridius was alive.

And so, with that knowledge held close and tight to her heart, she did not turn away when her brother came to her room that night and kissed her, and she did not struggle when he unclasped her stola, and she did not reproach herself when she cried out under his hands with something that was neither pain or fear.

Lucius would be safe, and she--she had a talent for survival.


End file.
